


Thirst; The Spring

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie is thirsty, F/M, Fandom made me do it, Ichabod is water prompt, Idk wtf to tag this honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: Ichabod longs to be the water in which Abbie find peace.And his wish is granted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow
> 
> I cannot properly remember who to blame for this tomfoolery, but there it is.
> 
> Comments welcome please!
> 
> Should finish this story by weekend.

Grace Abigail Mills was the unparalleled beauty that woman envied and men vied for. Men were intrigued by her sharp mind an almost astounding breadth of knowledge that they wished to draw every thought from her lips. Her frame, her small, voluptuous frame, it seemed righteously unfair for so many delicious curves to be packed so tight, all with in this tantalizing doe eyed beauty with smiles that made the run rise and laughter tinkling like bright clear bells. But a voice, too, that came in a velvet purr, smoky, sultry, pervasive as it wheedled into the ear of her admirers. Leaving them panting with want and troubled by the arousal that beset them even when she firmly turned them away.

Such were the woes, of Ichabod Crane.

You see, he was direly, direly in love withAbbie from when he first set eyes on her.

Through ever life time, in fact, it is inevitable he will fall for her, and go through grand dire lengths to profess his love.

But he was once also a very foolish man, simpering and cowardly, once, a life long ago he had squandered an opportunity to offer him self to her in entirety. And so, for his folly, every life time, he is tasked with proving his dedication and love to her, time and time again. Until it is won, and she opens her eyes and sees him for the heart that he carries inside---the heart that belongs to her in every way imaginable, as much as the stars are made for the sky, so is his heart made to be hers.

And their union is joyous and pleasurable when made. A memory that lingers deep within the darkest secret corners of his mind, through ever life---but eludes her until awakened.

Such is the nature of the curse. Such is the labor of his love.

To win her.

Over, and over again.

By any and all means.

* * *

 

Summer time seems the perfect time for a getaway, a vacation. To an open country side with a lovely quaint home and a body of water not far away, with a tree that over hangs it.

Abbie had been frightfully ecstatic. Miss Mills has never crossed him as the country air sort, but then again it wouldn't be the first time the woman of his heart had surprised him s

He came to the realization a while ago. That he was irrevocably in love with her. Deeply, deeply, passionately so. That he longed to smell her hair, winding it through his fingers. To frame her face with kisses. To nestle himself between her thighs, inhaling deep the fragrance of her before the divine pleasure of tasting her on his tongue.

The power, the depth of his affection and longing had been keeping him up at night. Quaking, shuddering with need. She was like a fever roiling beneath his skin. He sweat through his clothes, through the bedding, and would wake, straining and aching for the hardness that wanted release, the comfort of her warm cove to spend itself and sow but would have to make do with his rough jerking hand instead.

A mishap at the archive delayed him, the tedious sort of thing that he feared would impede upon the trip. He did not want to steal from her this reprieve and so had told her to go ahead. He would join as soon as the matter was sorted. He arrived the day after, chosen not to call her thinking it might be a surprise. Thinking, this get away would be his chance at last to unburden his heart and with any luck, she would return his thundering affections.

The country home is mostly secluded, scenic and lovely and aptly romantic. His heart flutters to think perhaps the romantic nature had called to Abbie in a deeply singular way. That she was leaning toward a cozy, quiet, involved time away with him. He gets out of the taxi that dropped him and is about to go into the house when he hears a joyful yelp and a splash. He stalls, curious and starts around the back where there is the pool of water, a neat spring. And the bowing tree. On one of the trees lower hanging limbs dangle garments of clothing. Shirt, pant, bra, her panties. A barely there piece of connected string. His adams apple bobs and as his eyes go to where she surfaces, naked as the day she was born, his heart sores.

She is so perfect.

What tremendous torture is this, to send an Angel to earth?

His eyes sweep over the perfect swell of breast and globes of her behind.

She wipes her wet hair back, oblivious to him, standing at the distance and exhales relief as she ducks under again.

She is so calm.

So relaxed.

So at peace.

He has but one singular thought.

 

I wish to be the water. He murmurs.

I wish to be the warm wet that wraps around her skin. To wash away grime and slosh between her legs.

I wish to be the droplets sliding off her nipples and down the crack of her backside.

I wish to be the cascading rivulets from her hair, sliding down arms and legs.

I wish to be the spring and to bring her eternal deep pleasure and comfort.

 

And then he is no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Abbie experiences the water.
> 
> How Ichabod experiences being the water.....

Abbie, is in him.

Submerged, deep, her whole being, her sweat and essence merging and washing away within his being. Her arms glide and her legs kick, splashing and revelling and he's basking so much in her joy he can scarcely contemplate nor understand the gravity of becoming the water.

But it was his wish, was it not.

And he is giving her so much joy this way. He swirls and buoys around her, between crack and crevice and discovers and embraces wrapping around her being in a complete whole way. He is overwhelmed by the sensation, the wholeness of her. He is on her skin, all over her. He can taste all of her salt. the water begins to warm with his exuberance and she sighs deeply, swimming to the bank and leaning there, paddling the water.

Abbie is refreshed and revitalized. The spring replenishes all ofher strength and weariness. It warms beneath the sun and laps gently at her, kneading her joints, making pliable her limbs. She thinks she could stay here in this spring, in its warm burbling comfort. She ducks her head again and feels thewild revelry of her strands dancing about her head in it before breaking the surface again. She gasps as she blinks water from her eyes.

For a second, it had felt like fingers gliding through her hair. Like lips gliding lovingly along her face. It coaxed her to stay here, with it. Her skin glimmers where the sunlight hits, her body dappled with droplets reflect back the light but she does not see, that within each little drop there is a face gazing at her in blissful adoration, so glad to be near her, on her, seeping all the secret places, even where water gathers in her ear----a rumbling warm baritone nestles there, but it is an echo of something she knows, not a memory.

When she finally emerges she thinks the water whines, lonely. Of all things, standing naked on the bank and finding herself looking adoringly at it, she promises to be back, soon.

* * *

 

In the house she gets a glass of water, cool, refreshing, nourishing. Her body seems to light from within rejuvenated. Her skin hums and glows. The best water, the tastiest thing she's ever let slip past her lips, rolling, sliding, happily down her tongue to her passage of her throat.

* * *

 

He's pouring from the tap. He cannot believe his luck that he extends as far as within the house. He is pouring, into the clear glass and then her lips, they are so close so near. " _Yes, Father,"_ he thinks reverently as he crests upon their softness. Oh.

 _Oh._ he moans as he crashes on her perfect teeth and tumbles on her tongue. His body is a phantom in his mind but he feels the pleasure all the same, and then the course down her throat. She drinks another glass, and then another. Each time he feels the breathless pleasure of being taken into her mouth and coursing down, down, down inside her.

 _Oh_ to be _inside her_ , in this way, still is a rewarding, wonderful thing. He is part of her, here. He is fortifying her. Giving her strength, vitality----the ruminating thoughts evaporate as she gulps down another mouth full and for a second the goes down a little hot, lighting a small heat in her chest but it makes her body warm in another curious manner too.

The drops on her lips hang there happily, caressing the plush delicious softness of them before another swipe of tongue laps him happily into her mouth.

Oh, Abbie. he all but groans and in her belly there burbles a small bubble that releases itself in the smallest of burps.

She wipes her mouth, and thinks to make dinner.

* * *

 

At night, Abbie washes her face. He lovingly strokes and caresses her visage as she carries the water and soap around and around her perfect features. And with each splash she uses to rinse he kisses her.

Her nose.

Her eye.

Her cheek.

Her lips.

Where she misses and the water runs down her chin, into the cleft of her breasts he pecks her skin lightly there. Thinking to himself how can she both savoury and sweet?

How can this simple act of nightly ritual make him feel so greatly----butit is Abbie----she makes him feel no matter what she does.

* * *

 

She keeps splashing her face because it feels like greeting an old friend, or a lover. Every time the water touches her it is with joy and exuberance and she relishes it. It's stupid, she thinks, to feel like the water knows her, is greeting her, being loving to her. But she has had this strange connection to it since bathing in the spring. She catches some of the water and drips it down her shirt, shivering with the coolness of it, but also the image fills her mind of finger tips, soft lips and shy tongue gliding along her skin.

She smiles to herself. Thinking on a vague shadow in her mind----part of Abbie knows, she was expecting company here, but the scenery, and the transformative freshness of the water makes it a muddy thing of no consequence.

Besides which she feels she has plenty of company as it.

Just her, the house. And the Spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Done. 
> 
> She needs to shower at some point. 
> 
> What has the fandom done to me.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been three days. Her skin glows and her hair grows. She emerges from the water rosy and flushed. She has been swimming in the spring, two, three, four times a day. It calls to her. She is distracted by the dripping tap when she settles down to read, her throat becoming parched. And when she has a glass in hand she still feels herself wanting, hungering, and gazing longingly at her lone, special spring. It sparkles and glimmers beckoning her. Promising to care for her. To alleviate all her cares and wash her away in bliss.

Her mind keeps drifting back to it and she has been dreaming of it. Of being stranded in a desert, staggering beneath a relentless sun when a giant wave rises up in the distance and her heart exults at the sight of it before it crashes down over her, submerging her entirely. It's warm as it knocks her on her back and soaks through her clothes, it's a tide that washes in and out over her body in a pulsing rhythm and she throws her head back as the wave moves, In and out. In and out. Taut nipples standing erect through her soaked through blouse she reaches up to touch them----

And then wakes up in the bed, hot, sweating profusely and direly needing to cool off.

This dream has been setting itself upon her for three days. Filling her mind with familiar wants but the face escapes her.

On this morning, woken, frustrated, she goes to the shower. She turns the water on, cold and lets it run, beating on her skin. The heat within her dissipates and is replaced with calm, a bordering painful numbness but gentle all the same. The drops on her shoulders feel like hands holding her. She reaches for the soap and begins to wash.

* * *

 

He has been dreaming of her, for three days. All day. All night. He wants her. He craves to be swallowed, needs to be bathed in, to warm the spring and watch her fighting the temptation, there in the secrecy of the bowed tree, not to touch herself. He sorely wants her to.

He wants her to find her release in him. To let her fingers stray and for him to surge around her, frothing, swirling bubbling around her to feel her digits surging through the water and thrusting gently inside. He buoys her breasts, cupping them lovingly and steam begins to rise off the surface for a second before he can reign himself in.

His desire for her grows stronger still in this state even though he has been entirely closer to her in this way than ever before---it makes him greedy for her. He is, quite literally, a pool of loving utter adoration at her feet.

And it shows.

If nothing else he is rewarded with the way her curls shine and bounce and lengthen with his love and luxuriating. Her skin so soft, and supple. He is gentle with her when she bathes, sluicing easily off her skin, at perfect temperature. He caresses and as he glides down her legs like lithe fingers, he hears her happy sigh.

He can sense her mood, and today she comes in the shower, frustrated, not for the first time. She desires cold so he offers it. Staving off as best he can his own urges but when her soapy hand wanders between her legs, the water from above suddenly spurts warm.

Abbe gasps with the shock of it, pausing in mild confusion. A drop drips in her ear rumbling in a smooth low voice that makes her moan softly. They are not any words she understands, only it invites her to ignore the change in temperature.

It's nothing. She tells herself, rinsing soap from her hand but the water becomes warmer still and what drips off her skin coaxes and wheedles and guides her back between her legs.

* * *

 

_Yes_

Crane moans as she searches. _Yes, oh_ ** _yes._**

* * *

 

She begins to pant as she pushes inside.

* * *

 

Mere water clinging to her finger tips he revels as she pushes him deeper. He takes in the beauty of her walls and wants to stay here, forever. _Yes My Abbie, please._ He begs as she begins to move faster.

* * *

 

She leans on the cold tiled wall, unable to fight the urge. She needs this. She wants this. The shower beats down on her skin, harder, hotter, the room fills with steam and she hisses. So close.

* * *

 

 _Deeper, here, oh my love I want to stay here with you always, for eternity_. When she cries out the shower head releases a gush on her back and then she turns, letting it beat her spine. The water comes down harder rising in temperature.

* * *

 

Her mind gets away with her and she thinks the water grips her waist, and begins to thrust into her. It's too warm, it's riling her up all over again but she wants it, she needs it she finds herself pushing back against the figment of a lover there with her.

* * *

 

Steam curling and coiling in the air he is all over her, in and around.He leans his cloud of steaming hair on her shoulder as he rocks into her. She braces herself and screams. Yes. Yes. Harder, please.

The shower releases another torrent and then gutters out.

Panting she gathers herself a moment before stepping out the shower. "Well that was counter productive" she mutters to herself, wanting to question the insane part of her brain that tells she just had a sexual experience, not just in the shower but with it.

Somehow it doesn't matter. She wants to resign herself to madness and yet she knows it isn't. The water understands her. The water loves her. Wants to pleasure her.

* * *

 

That night when she finishes dinner she pulls on her favourite black thong and silk robe and a book of poetry-----he would get a kick out of that----flits through her mind and then vanishes-----and approaches the spring. It is still and beautiful in the moonlight. She drifts a hand leisurely through it and feels the water form a small whirlpool around her hand, as if holdingit, accompanied by mild warmth. Smiling she shrugs off her robe and leans over, watching her topless reflection.

She sees herself in a way she'snever before. Abbie is seeing herself through a desirous gaze. The eyes of the man who has become her sacred spring. Her eyes linger on her perfectly formed breasts and their dark erect peaks, the slim waist and flat abdomen and the flare into her hips. She licks her lips, watching herself. She reaches up to rolla nipple between her fingers and is mesmerized. I'm really hot. She thinks absently, pulling her hand up out of the water and standing. She continues to explore her body, her breath becoming quick, watching herself in the water and when it begins to steam, hears herself say to it, warmly. "This is all for you."

The water whirls in response.

"I brought poetry," she coaxes, as her hands grow still. She steps into the spring and reaches around for the book. Turning to the page she dog eared when she became distracted by thirst. The water eddies around her, like arms curling around her, sloshing against her limbs like longer lankier legs caging her in and she begins to read. Softly.

And the water listens to her, blissful, content, gently surging.

They spend this night beneath the stars.


	4. Chapter 4

The Spring is a companion to her now. Her only confidant through out the stretch of the following week. She greets it in the morning, tossing herself from her sheets and bounding down the stairs running gleefully towards it just to watch the sun rising in its surface. It ripples at sight of her as if in salutation. Smiling warmly down at the water she lowers herself down to the edge and begins to stretch. She watches her self move in the reflection, and be it a trick of her mind or the waving leaves of the tree over head, but she thinks that it mirrors her. Somewhere in the depths, she is not alone.

* * *

 

Her thirst does not wane, nor her growing affinity and desire to be submerged in it, almost always. The day before she had floated in it long enough for her skin to wrinkle but yet she had emerged, as resplendent and plump as before. She finds herself talking to it. Little musings and thoughts throughout the day, and ducking her head below to hear the water rushing in her ears, desperately trying to latch onto the warm deep resonance that dwells in it. A husky comforting tone. She wants its words, its voice. It troubles some part of her deep inside. Like a light bobbing in the distance of darkness. This resemblance of a voice, thrums and sparks and reaches to her.

When her mind wanders to unpleasant, faraway,hurtful things it stirs tumultuously, disrupting her train of thought and then gushes at her warmly, like an embrace. Like comfort. She cups her hands and lifts the water to her lips, eyes closed, thinking, _speak to me_. _I want to hear you._

_I wish to hear you._

"I am yours" the water burbles and her eyes snap open, shocked. "Yours. Always. For eternity in entirety."

It is a peculiar circumstance of dreams, that when they come true, it is not often our first instinct to embrace them, but rather flee.

The water roils with dismay when she takes off at a run, bolting back toward the house.

* * *

That night for the first time she is wary as she runs the tap for a glass of water. She peers into the sparkling clear depths of it curiously and holds the glass to her ear, listening before she takes a satisfying sip. The cool refreshing taste of it obliterates any earlier nagging thoughts. The drops that dance gleefully down her throat before a moan sounds somewhere in her head. She pauses, eyes scanning the kitchen.

Nothing.

"Get it together Mills," she rolls her shoulders and drinks again but hears it once more, more insistent, a deep low growling sound that to her dismay sounds both primal and alluring. She finishes the glass with a satisfied smack of her lips before a sort of shout fills her ears.

Her face colours.

It's a shout of built up pressure, pleasure, finding its long awaited release.

She thinks it calls her name. Warmth flares inside her and floods her belly, all of her skin flushes with it.

"Please, more."

Abbie blinks amidst her sudden heat spell, wondering of the sweat beading up on her skin. A fever? she wonders but instead of writing the sound off she focuses and listens.

"Please" it begs.

No. He. That needy hungry ravenous sound, is distinctly male.

"Please, I need you, please."

Heated, Abbie runs the tap again, intending to cool off but the voice clarifies as the faucet opens. It exits the safe delusional boundaries of her mind and seeps into the room, bouncing off the walls.

"I need you to drink me."

Holding the glass aloft she waits to hear if the voice will make further demands. And when it does, she's surprised to feel so tender and wanting at its words.

"I need you to consume me. _Please._ Take me into your mouth and let me run along your tongue down your perfect throat and inside you. _Please_ let me nourish and revive you. I beg you. Let me in. Pour me in. _I need to be inside you_. It is the one place I am meant to be, oh please."

Abbie curses. She's wet, she can feel it. Her clothes feel like they're suffocating her and she starts stripping off, there in the kitchen.

"Yours alone. Always. In every way. I will have you in whatever way you will take me."

She throws the glass of water on her own bare skin and gasps with the shocking cold of it before her body begins to thrum as the droplets run down her skin, skimming lightly over her body, lips fluttering on her neck, down to her shoulder.

"Drink." it encourages.

She gets another glass and downs it, burning up and the voice is louder, its groan of pleasure almost obscene but making her hotter still. She tears from the kitchen in nothing more than her panties and bra upstairs to run the bath.

The question of hersanity battles for pride of place in her mind with the deep longing that has taken root and residence within her heart and a dark forgotten corner of her mind to admit this is real, and secretly over joyed by it.

The room fills with steam and she steps into the bath. The water surges and seems to happily yank her down into it, rushing over her breasts up to her neck where it pools for a brief moment, as if lovingly laying its head on her chest.

"Part your legs"

She does, slightly, and feels the gentle rush and prod of the water swirling up towards her, it grows a little warmer as it draws near and Abbie squirms. Here is where I belong, he revels. And Abbie's hand strays downwards, eager to help. "Here is where I would stay forever if you would let me,you are so sweet." Her breath escapes her as she races toward her peak.

"Here. In me, release, my love you are so beautiful."

 _I wish you could touch me._ She thinks, her mind scattering as the threatof bliss draws near. Misty fingers appear suddenly, gently nudging her own hand out of the way to administer to her themselves. Long, artful fingers, pressing deeper, crooking just so----

She begins to pant.

"Come"

She squeezes her eyes shut. A misty hand reaches up for her breast and strokes her nipple. The steam gathering in the room descends on her, warm, an eager mouth, sucking gently until she is arching her back and the water sloshes and splashes over the rim as her body bows to the impossible pleasure. She doesn't fight it. She gives in with a cry.

 ** _Yes._** Thunders in her ear. The bath turned stormy as if chasing its own release and her body quivers and shakes again, crashing over the edge.

Exhausted she sinks down, letting her head rest on the ledge. "Am I really insane" she whispers. "Am I this lonely----"

The water answers. "It is my ineptitude that has ever let you feel loneliness. I love you" the words echo and she goes very, very still. "It is my fault for denying you the devotion of my body and heart. _**I love you**_. I should have cast myself before you and to your every whim before I saw you bathing in this spring and so I longed to be it, to be around you, on, around, inside of you oh---"

The voice grows crisper and a light seems to go on in her brain. The lilt and timbre of it, her mind starts to clear. She was waiting for someone here. A friend.

No.

Partner.

No.

"Yours". the voice interjects, matter of fact. "Every ounce of me. Yours."

Abbie leans up and surveys the water around her. "I wish for you to be a man." she says, tentatively. "I wish for you to come forward and reveal yourself to me. I wish that you take the knowledge and joys you have had of my body and make them flesh against flesh. I wish……" the fog in her mind clears, rightness and light and truth pour through her. His devoted spell broken. Her memory cracked open. "I wish for _you,_ Ichabod Crane."

And then she is no longer alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up if you need one more chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Ichabod Crane, fully clothed, appears in the tub with her. His lanky long legs bracketing hers. His arms circled around her waist. His nose pressed deeply into her hair as he inhales, not yet realizing he's been returned to himself until Abbie speaks.

She doesn't, for a moment. The impossibility of it, the truth of it is still trying to right itself in her brain. She is naked, in the tub. He is curled around her, in his usual garments, only soaked through now. He is holding her in all her nakedness and----

She thinks of the water surging and commanding her and driving her to heights that she's almost embarrassed to admit now, was all him. She's in shock. "Crane." she breathes. That jolts him. His eyes blink open and he looks down at her bare brown beautiful shoulders and then a mild sort of terror flits through him when he realizes those are his legs, alongside her naked ones. His hand---his fingers twitch and he becomes aware that it is the flesh of her abdomen he grazes with his finger tips and that is her backside pressed against him.

"Oh Dear Heaven," he murmurs.

"Crane." she repeats.

"Miss Mills." he says very quietly and unsure. The formality of it makes her snicker.

"You've spentalmost two weeks as my bath water----"

"The best weeks of my life," he confesses quickly and feels his heart race.

"---And still I'm Miss Mills?" she shifts in the tub, turning around so she is facing him full on and Crane hisses. Her breasts beg to be touched but he tries to still his hand. Abbie watches him struggle, torn between being amused and annoyed. "The things you made me feel, made me do, and how you have seen me and enjoyed me, in my bare skin and little else, and you're afraid of me now?"

His mouth has gone dry. "I had, much joy, being of service to you, in that way. Abbie. I----I it gave me the closeness, the depth of closeness with you that I have desired, with burning urgency." His eyes stray downwards but he sharply reminds himself to look her in the eye.

"Did I dream it," she starts "Or did you say----"

" ** _I love you, Grace Abigail Mills_**. That was no jest."

She blinks, and takes him in. Again, struck with the oddity that she is naked and he, clothed and drenched in her tub. "How long have you known," she whispers.

"Since the day we met. It's always the day we met. I cannot help who my heart beats for, no matter the life. It's always you. No matter the obstacle that comes in the way, and forgive me not being brave enough to confess it sooner."

"If I didn't wish for you, would you have stayed the spring? Forever? Would you have been happy that way?"

His mind wanders to the absolute bliss and freedom he has had of her body these past days. The thrill of being swallowed and frolicked in. Bathed and revelled. He thinks he could have been very content, pleasuring her that way forever. She was so sweet and breath taking, giving over in wanton abandon to him as the water. Submissive to the torrents and the little drops and gentle currents he had commanded. He'd fallen in love again with her then. A thousand times over.

"You'd have made that choice for me?" she asks, her voice quavering. "How long, for how long, the illusion of lips but never yours to kiss, the throb and want but never you, hard, and hot like steel sliding inside me," her hand reaches forward toward the erection that fails at concealing itself through his wet trousers. His nostrils flare and he barely stifles a groan. "You'd have been happy spending eternity giving me illusions? but never all of you?"

The earlier notion seems preposterous in context now. With her hand lightly stroking him through the sodden fabric and the real glistening sheen of her skin and her curves all before him, within grasp, that he can feel in a concrete way---no he is reminded now that while wholly memorable and an experience he will treasure forever---he would always have longed and keened for more, for this.

"No." he shakes his head tightly. "No Abbie that could never be enough for me, for you, for us."

"Buttons," she whispers, moving closer. Distracted by her beauty he blinks.

"Hmm?"

"These, damned, buttons," she purrs eyes going impossibly dark as she grips him. With a sharp intake of breath he obliges her and wrestling around, splashing the tile---she laughs at that, the remaining absurdity that they are still in the tub---as he frees himself and she eagerly takes him in hand.

"Abbie," he grunts.

"Hmm?" She, is in turn now distracted admiring the length of him. She thinks of the morning in the shower, when it had taken her from behind. Her dreams of waves, moving in and out. His moans of pleasure when she'd drunk him. Her eyes widen suddenly and she snickers. "In a way, you've already been inside me. _I drank you_. Are you okay? Are you really all there?"

His eyes twinkle. "Being with you, twined with you in any and every fashion, will only ever be of benefit to me, Abbie. I adore you. I love you. I want you."

"Ichabod----" he moves suddenly, gripping her hips and tugging her close so she is brushing against him andshe moans unexpectedly.

"I fear I was unfair to you, before," he rumbles. "You did not always know whatyou were consenting to, when I begged and plead to be inside you. To stay there. But I ask anew now. Abbie, will you let me in"Abbie regards him closely for a moment before she steps out of the tub gesturing for him to follow after. He rises from within, staggering under the weight of wet clothes and is he ever a sight. She doesn't say anything more than help him shuck out of the wet garments quickly, tossing them on the floor, and then all but pushes him into the bedroom it joins to, marching him towards the bed. His knees buckle and he sits heavily on the edge and before he can gather his wits she is astride him.

Abbie reaches for his collar pulling herself closer and they both squirm feeling the other so close. "Yes." she breathes. " _Yes_. I want you. **_I love you_**. I remember now. I always have, I always do. But you're always _such an idiot_ about it,"

He barely manages a chuckle. "I will try not to be one now."

Abbie smiles as she guides him in and her eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him, real warm, erect flesh, as she begins to move. "Is this," she breathes. "Is this still the place, you're meant to be-----"

Hekisses her, fervently, her lips part beneath his and his tongue delves in to tangle with hers, preoccupying her entirely and throwing her rhythm as his hands reach around to the curve of her backside, squeezing as he begins to thrust up, taking control. He breaks the kiss and she is breathless and moans as she bounces on him. There are still droplets of water on her skin and his and she leansforward to lick them off his skin and feels him do the same. "This," he breathes "This sweet place, is where I will always belong."

"I love you."She pants as he shifts and the angle is just right and so perfect and deep this way.

"I love you,"

She feels herself tighten as she begins to spiral higher. She wraps her arms around him, anchoring herself to him.

The room is nothing but the sounds of panting, wetness and her sweet moans, climbing, climbing, the pitch rising and when she's at cliffs edge, when she screams for him, he watches her, rapt as he moves faster, holding the pace and adores the look on her face.

He shouts her shortly after finding his release and then they are there, joined together, as close as they can be. He caresses her back, kissing her shoulder.

"I wish for us to always be like this," he says, warmly, with affection.

She shudders against him with light laughter. "We wish for the same thing."

And she pulls back and kisses him, deeply, passionately until she feels a twitch and he stirs again. She grins devilishly at him as she pulls away."So soon?"

"I could ask the same of you," he replies saucily as she starts all over. 

Abbie laughs, bright and clear and runs her fingers through his hair, "What can I say, Ichabod Crane. You make me  _thirsty"_


End file.
